


things wikipedia doesn't tell you

by dalyeau



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, lawyer oikawa, police man iwaizumi, self indulgent oh god so self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalyeau/pseuds/dalyeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hajime closes his laptop with more force than necessary and a scowl. Oikawa Tooru might be perfect in pictures and Wikipedia pages but he knows the truth behind that expensive suit and piercing eyes. The guy's an asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	things wikipedia doesn't tell you

**Author's Note:**

> please for the love of god don't think this is anything good. it's self-indulgent crap i wrote in a couple of hours because lawyer oikawa is like my favest of headcanons and i'm dying on this hill. if you've read the bokuaka coffeeshop au and you remember the brief mention of law student oikawa, then yes this is sort of like a fic in the same verse years and years later. i dont know how to write serious stuff like murders and legal shit so that's why it's all so vague and lazy, i really just wanted an excuse to write lawyer oikawa throwing gummy bears at ushijima (yes, i watched gone girl recently.)

There's a very specific, not very long list of things Iwaizumi Hajime likes. He likes green apples, that's a sure one. The red ones are too sweet. He likes action movies with lots of explosions but just the right amount of suspense plot to make said explosions worthwhile, and a little bit of touching friendship moments between the hero and sidekick is pretty okay, too. He likes chocolate ice-cream (who doesn't?), the face his mother makes when he visits and gives her flowers, and he definitely likes his job. It's hard sometimes, and he gets sweaty and gross more often than not because being a police man is not exactly luxurious, but knowing that he's the one that gets to slam jerks against walls and handcuff them outranks any possible disgust at getting home late at night tired, dirty and with aching muscles and limbs.

That's what he tells himself, repeating it over and over in his head, breathing in and out deeply like the therapist assigned to his department told him. He likes his job. He likes his job. He likes his job. There's a bullet inside his arm right now and there's blood everywhere but hey, he likes his job. Hajime feels dizzy, but most of all he's angry. He likes his job but he definitely doesn't like getting shot, _especially_ not when he doesn't get to shoot back.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is doing his best to stop the bleeding of his own shoulder. There's a body in front of them, and the floor's now more red than it is white, but Hajime crawls towards him anyway, ignoring both corpse and disturbingly huge pool of blood wetting his uniform pants and making his legs feel disgusting and sticky.

“Do you have a phone?”

Ushijima looks at him, and nods. He can't reach for it with his injured arm though, and the other one is trying to press on his wound to keep the blood loss to a minimum, so Hajime crawls some more and takes it out of Ushijima's jacket for him, determined not to waste a second more than necessary. He calls his station for reinforcements and then scrolls through Ushijima's contact list.

“What's your lawyer's name? You're going to need one yesterday.”

Ushijima seems to be about to pass out, but he still manages to look intimidating and succesful and very, very rich and powerful.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oikawa Tooru is very professional, that much Hajime can admit even though he's known the guy for a grand total of ten seconds. By the time he and Ushijima are being rushed into the hospital by screaming nurses, Oikawa is already waiting for his client with a drink from Starbucks in his (perfectly manicured?) right hand and his left one furiously typing on his phone. He looks up and smiles, so fake and practiced that Hajime wants to punch it away from his lips, though he knows it's not fair, that he's just irritated because he got shot and his arm hurts like hell.

Hajime recognizes that smile. It's the same one Oikawa wears for his interviews on the news. He should have imagined that Ushijima Wakatoshi would have only the best and brightest of lawyers, but Hajime is a bit surprised that it was Oikawa the one he chose to call out of the dozen of attorneys his family must have. That means he's Good, not just the interviews-on-the-news kind of good, but the this-wounded-multimillionaire-trusts-this-guy-to-save-his-ass good, which is a new level of good. It's the best level.

“Ah, Ushiwaka-chan, getting into trouble again?” Oikawa _tsk_ s as the nurses carry Ushijima and Hajime past him. “I want a raise!” he calls out, and Hajime now wants to punch him and it has nothing to do with getting shot and his arm hurting like hell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oikawa is everything Hajime hates. He decides it within ten minutes of listening to the guy talk to Ushijima. They're in the same small hospital room, the three of them, Ushijima already on his way to recovery and Hajime still waiting for his last operation, and it's a shining new day but Oikawa still manages to look dazzling and perfectly put together even though Hajime is sure he hasn't slept a minute, judging by the new cup of coffee in his hand. He doesn't even want to think about the amount of thread-pulling and outrageous bribing Oikawa must have done to be allowed into their room.

“Now you've really done it, Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa says, whistling. He waves his phone at them, one of the expensive kind that costs more than three of Hajime's paychecks. “Every single person in Japan is sure you're guilty. Even my friends think you're guilty, and I'm telling them you aren't.” He pauses and tilts his head a little. “You aren't, right?”

“Oikawa,” Ushijima warns.

“Just making sure.”

“Oi,” Hajime says, “do you really expect to do your job right when you aren't sure of your own client's innocence?”

“Someone hasn't watched the news recently,” Oikawa sing-songs, but there's a sharp edge to his voice that makes the hair on Hajime's arms stand up. “I can convince the entire world that Ushiwaka-chan is innocent even if they have him slitting throats and rubbing blood all over his face on tape. Which they don't, so shush. Ushiwaka-chan knows he's hired the best."

“Get out of my room,” Hajime growls. The drugs' effects are wearing off and his arm is starting to hurt again.

“I wouldn't recommend that,” Oikawa replies, and takes a sip of his coffee. Hajime wishes he would choke on it. He doesn't know why he's getting so agitated and why this guy pisses him off so much, but it's nice, having a specific target for his frustration. “In fact, what I'd recommend is emptying your bank account right now and transferring your life savings to mine, because you're going to need me.”

Hajime narrows his eyes. He's not sure if he's heard right or the drugs hadn't been wearing off after all.

“What the hell do you mean?”

Oikawa smiles wide and predatory. “It means exactly what you think it means.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Hajime gets home, the first thing he does is google Oikawa Tooru on his crappy laptop. The first result is his official page, one generic-looking site with a short bio and a phone number that probably redirects to one of his many assistants, and the second one is a Wikipedia page that's obviously been written with care, not like those half-assed ones for articles no one really reads. The picture they've used is a good one (Hajime doubts Oikawa is capable of having bad ones) even though he isn't smiling – he's serious and professional, ridiculously handsome in a white suit and black tie, and Hajime feels like his soul could be sucked out of his body and into the screen by that stare.

He spends the next hour reading about one of Japan's top three lawyers, the impossible cases he's pulled off and the hundreds of clients he's had in his short career (he's only twenty-nine, Wikipedia informs him, same as him) and he hates himself a little because he finds himself admiring Oikawa, if only a tiny bit. It's the kind of fascination that follows after watching athletes in the Olympics bend the rules of gravity to break records and win gold medals; that feeling of being in awe someone can be so good, so disgustingly talented to the point of seeming like a dream.

There's a long paragraph dedicated to showing off how Oikawa makes a donation every year to support the careers of hundreds of students that want to specialize in sports injuries, and Hajime closes his laptop with more force than necessary and a scowl. Oikawa Tooru might be perfect in pictures and Wikipedia pages but he knows the truth behind that expensive suit and piercing eyes. The guy's an asshole.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hajime sighs and makes the transfer. He'll spend the next three years eating cheap rice and ramen, but at least it won't be in jail.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“How can you stand him?” Hajime asks, absolutely baffled.

“He's a good lawyer,” Ushijima concedes, sounding pained.

Oikawa slowly turns to them.

“Did I just hear... Ushiwaka-chan praising me?”

“No,” Ushijima says quickly.

“Go back to work,” Hajime snaps. “I'm not paying you enough money to power a small country for a decade to hear you fishing for compliments.”

“Harsh, Iwa-chan.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Got it, boss.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hajime is tired. His arm is healing fine and he's been suspended from his job for as long as the case is open which means he hasn't worked in what seems like forever, but getting cameras shoved in his face and hearing constant whispers and murmurs behind him everywhere he goes should not be underestimated as an effective energy-drainer. He doesn't even want to imagine what it's like for Ushijima.

Oikawa's been working hard to get the spotlight away from both his clients, but the case is still very much fresh and it's gone worldwide, thanks to the amazing effect of the internet and social networks and the fact that Ushijima being involved as a prime element is a huge entertainment factor, like some twisted tv show. Hajime's sure there are people who are getting off on this case, who would like nothing more than seeing such a rich, young, famous, popular man with everything in life end up rotting in jail, and it makes him stay awake at night sometimes, thinking things a (former?) police man shouldn't. Getting some counceling would probably be a good idea right now, but Oikawa's paycheck is a black hole sucking all possible life out of Hajime's bank account, and he's not sure anyway if it'd be productive, since he has the growing suspicion that he wouldn't spend as much time talking about his frustration and worries focused on the case as he would ranting about how annoying Oikawa is and how Hajime is somehow getting less annoyed by him, at the same time. Definitely no counceling needed for that.

He can tell Oikawa's hard work is paying off, more and more people are starting to get on his side and Ushijima's, but Hajime is mostly just pissed off that the guy has managed to worm his way into his every thought in the way a simple lawyer shouldn't. He thinks about Oikawa all the time, as he has breakfast at morning and brushes his teeth at night, as he massages his own arm like his doctors recommended him and as he picks what kind of flowers he'll bring his mother for his next visit. (Pretty ones. She deserves them for all the stress Hajime is causing her.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The interview is Oikawa's idea, because Oikawa is always the one with the awful, amazing ideas. The kind of idea that could very much be the nail in Hajime's coffin if it goes wrong, but a get out of jail free card if they manage to pull it off.

Hajime is going first, because the tv channel's rating managers are not stupid and know that you leave the best for last, who happens to be Ushijima. To add to the disaster, it's going to be live, because everyone knows that live events attract more viewers like a dropped apple on the grass attracts a shitload of ants. Hajime is sweating, while he and Ushijima and Oikawa rehearse one last time.

They've been rehearsing all week. Hajime is not sure that he's ever going to forget the sight of Oikawa in pajamas at two in the morning, sitting on his couch and throwing gummy bears at Ushijima every time he messed up and said the wrong thing to Oikawa's questions.

“I'm going to hit you with a gummy bear every time you make a mistake, Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa had said, and he hadn't been lying. Only ten minutes later he'd ran out of gummy bears and Ushijima was covered in them, sticking to his white t-shirt as he clenched his fists. (Hajime had seen him eat one very quickly when Oikawa hadn't been looking, and that's something else he'll never forget).

He'd also thrown gummy bears at Hajime, but he'd done a bit better. His experience as a police man trained him better in the art of dealing with uncomfortable questions, and knowing what lawyers wanted to hear. Oikawa even had time to eat a couple of gummy bears here and there in between Hajime's mistakes, grinning pleasantly every time Hajime gave him what Oikawa considered a good response, and grinning wider when it was a wrong one and he got to hit Hajime with his candy.

“You guys have as much charisma as one of these,” Oikawa had said three hours later, showing Ushijima and Hajime a decapitated red bear, “but that's what I'm here for. You just answer the questions and then I'll be there to polish them with my amazing speech skills and attractive, charming face when some of those lovely interviewers makes me swallow their mics.”

So that's where Hajime is right now. About to appear on public television thanks to Oikawa Tooru and with sweaty hands that he wipes on his expensive pants (that Oikawa bought for him, embarrassingly enough) because some cut-throat interviewer is about to rip him apart and all he can think of is that there won't be any gummy bears, this time. Only his entire life on the line. It's a bit scary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oikawa used to play volleyball. He was very good at it, extremely so, and Hajime doesn't know what made him stop exactly but he thinks he wouldn't be too far away from the truth if he linked it with Oikawa's annual donations to doctors focused on treating injuries in the sports field.

It was on the Wikipedia page, that he was a particularly good setter and an even better captain in high school, but it'd only been like two lines and Hajime thought they didn't matter, like those other filler lines about Oikawa's life that didn't provide any useful information, only details that a thirteen year old with a crush would collect and post obsessively about on her blog.

It's one day while they're having lunch together in Oikawa's (obscenely big) apartment that Hajime realises it is not, in fact, filler information. There's a volleyball match on and Hajime hadn't been paying attention, but when he looks at Oikawa again, he sees that he's gripping his chopsticks with a white-knuckled grip and his eyes are wide and focused on the tv with a concentration that is kind of creepy. Hajime forgets to breathe for a moment, the sight is so unsettling.

On the screen, some dark-haired player with a scowl is being tackled by his teammate, a tiny thing with vibrant orange hair and a bright smile. 

“You know them?” Hajime asks, swallowing his mouthful of curry.

“No,” Oikawa says sharply, quick like lightning, and Hajime knows. They have a long staring contest until Oikawa sighs and admits, “Yes. Is Iwa-chan going to interrogate me about it?”

“It's just a volleyball match on tv,” Hajime says with a shrug, and if it sounds kind of gentle because Oikawa looks a bit fragile right now, he's not going to acknowledge it. “Change the channel, you masochistic idiot, you look so awful right now.”

“Ah, lovely words from a lovely man,” Oikawa swoons, but he changes the channel, his grip on the chopsticks has relaxed, and his foot is touching Hajime's under the table, unmoving.

It's only late at night, while he's taking his socks off and getting ready for bed, that Hajime realises his lunch meeting with Oikawa didn't involve any talk remotely related to the case and Oikawa's job as his lawyer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More and more of Wikipedia filler type of information sneaks into his knowledge, day by day. Oikawa Tooru shaves his legs, revealed by the shorts he wears around the house after he's showered. He likes red apples, though he buys green ones that are waiting for Hajime in a bowl on the kitchen island every time he visits, and he cannot stand the sight of grapes ( _“I ate so many when I was a kid, Iwa-chan, so many. I still have nightmares about it.”_ ) He's probably the only adult in the world that can pull off an old and wrinkly E.T. shirt and his favourite client was an astronaut, though he also likes Ushijima, no matter how many gummy bears he throws at him. Coffee and an hour of jogging around the park near his place are the only things keeping him alive at mornings. His hair is perfect every minute of every day, without needing so much as a minute of brushing.

He kisses like this: slow at first, gentle nips at Hajime's lips that has them tingling and hypersensitive, and then a little faster, pushing the tip of his tongue past them, retreating, waiting, until Hajime growls under his breath and goes meet him and then Oikawa gives him all he's got, wet and sweet in Hajime's mouth like those grapes he hates so much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Why did you become a lawyer?” Hajime asks, the day before the trial.

He knows a lot about Oikawa now, things that are on Wikipedia and things that are not, but he still doesn't know this and it makes him uneasy, has his skin itching uncomfortably in interest.

“Iwa-chan is curious today?” Oikawa asks in that annoying sing-song voice of his, but then he goes quiet and serious and Hajime thinks that when he's like this, he could maybe some day fall in love with this alien-loving mess of a lawyer.

(He also thinks that when Oikawa is annoying and childish and sticking his tongue out, when he's smiling his fake smiles and flirting with interviewers, every time he laughs in evil delight as he touches Hajime's naked legs with his cold feet at night).

“Just answer, dumbass.”

“You need to give me at least five more orgasms to unlock my tragic backstory, Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa says, and places a hand on the small of Hajime's back. “Now let's rehearse some more.”

“Do you think we're going to win?”

“Yeah.” Oikawa smiles. “I've got your back, Iwa-chan.”

 


End file.
